


If You're Really A Friend

by Ais



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Kill-all run spoilers, genocide run spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5116721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ais/pseuds/Ais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sits and waits in the silent golden corridor, because he holds no hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You're Really A Friend

_"If you're really a friend, you won't come back."_

With those words the entire corridor fell silent, sharply contrasting all the noise that had filled it mere seconds before.

He sighed. It was over. He used a thick blue sleeve to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead.

(Sweat. He, a skeleton, was sweating. Monster anatomy was strange.)

On the ground before him was the face-down corpse of the brother killer, of the one who tried to kill them all. Corpse. Right, humans left bodies behind when they die. He would need to dispose of that.

(Brown hair splayed around their head in an unfitting halo, red trickling from where multiple glowing blue bones had peirced through their body. Blood and flesh, something monsters don't have. The closest thing to blood he had was ketchup.)

It might have been his first time actually seeing a human corpse, but the numbers on his phone told him otherwise. He glanced at the tiny screen. 36. A press of a button and it changes to 37. He decides to add a note. This time their death was a little different after all.

"Got duunnkkeedd"

Seemed pretty accurate. He took another glance at the body before him. Yeah, pretty accurate. He stuffs the phone back into his pocket and waits. Nothing happens.

Even then it takes him a while before he sits down, and he still does nothing about the body of the kid before him. It won't last long anyway.

(If he was on his second or third, he might have burned the body, or at least tossed it out of the corridor, but he held little hope.)

The silver blade glows ominously in the golden light, and he only wishes to blast it into smitherines.

(But it won't last because his friend was gone. Gone for good.)

So he sits there, waiting. Waiting to forget again, waiting to go through the pure exhaustion of battle.

(Waiting, because he holds no hope.)

 

 

The corridor remains silent.

 

 


End file.
